


Affectionate Bullying

by Kat_The_Kitkat



Category: Klaus (2019)
Genre: M/M, No Beta read we die like men, Rating May Change, eventual mogens/jesper, it's not super shippy right out the gate, mild homophobia, sort of slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_The_Kitkat/pseuds/Kat_The_Kitkat
Summary: Takes place after the events of the movie, but before the twelve year jump. I’d say it’s maybe a year or two after the first Christmas with Klaus and Jesper working together.Written kind of out of spite because goddamn it in what world does Jesper pass as a straight man?? And Mogens?? Literally flirting with him. But there’s like no content so i GUESS i have to step up and make some myself.
Relationships: Jesper Johanssen/Mogens
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	1. Soft Hectoring

“You know he likes you, right?” 

Jesper’s brows pinch together as he looks at his friend, Alva is leaning against the old wooden frame of one of the houses in town. Jesper honestly can’t remember if it was originally an _Ellingboe_ or a _Krum_ house, as a fresh coat of neutrally colored paint clung to the surface. He looks at her as if she’s suddenly sprouted a third eye, and she rolls her eyes. Honestly how dense could one man be? How clueless? Unaware? While it was true Jesper had chosen to remain in Smeersburg, Jesper hadn’t exactly lost every one of the things his cushy life in the big city provided. After Jesper’s father left, admitting he was proud of his son, a surge of wealth rippled through the economy on the little island. Things were _nice_ here, now. Sometimes, despite his decision to stay, it still seemed like Jesper was in that socially unaware bubble that often came with a life of privilege. 

Jesper laughs in a stiff, awkward kind of way. Like when someone tries to joke about something more heavy, and it fails horribly, and everyone is left kind of uncomfortable. “Mogens? Yeah, Alva, the man that trips me when I walk by and laughs at my misery, he likes me.” 

She deadpans, resisting the urge to vocalize her annoyance. “Jesper, do you have any idea what children are like?”

His brows somehow knit more tightly over his suspiciously squinted eyes. He’s about to ask what _children_ have to do with this, but she continues before he can. “When kids reach a certain age, they start to feel differently about others.” She shrugs. “Most of the boys in my class only pick on girls because they _like_ them and don’t know how else to express it.” 

The dots line up- some sort of string of logic tying them to one another before he can stop it, and his expression falls to a shocked one. He looks towards where Mogens had walked off, then back at Alva, disbelieving. He laughs awkwardly again. “Alva I don’t think that applies here.” This time, she doesn’t suppress the groan that claws up her throat. 

“You’re literally going to kill me here. Jesper, do you see the way he looks at you?” 

“Like he wants to take my lunch money?” 

She raises her brows briefly, pursing her lips in a type of ‘maybe so’ action. “Well, I wouldn’t say he’s after your _lunch money_ per say, but something along those lines.” 

Heat creeps up Jesper’s neck, his face already a blotchy red from the harsh wind that cut through the streets, the blotches of more normally colored skin on his cheeks and ears reddens. “That’s not. He doesn’t.” He gestures vaguely, staring at his hands as if waving them around like he is will make this magically go away. He’s not sure if he means the _conversation_ , Mogens, or both. 

Alva, bless her soul, has some semblance of decency. She doesn’t press much more, instead letting the topic evaporate as she mercifully steps over, shrugging one of her shoulders as she drags him off for the coffee she’d promised him a few hours prior. 

  
  


It just doesn’t make sense. Right? Right. Being-- liking *men* wasn’t exactly the most normal thing. Even in a town that consisted of neighbors who tried to spear one another on the daily, being _gay_ was just. Uncommon. He hasn’t had any poor experiences because of his preferences, but that’s mostly because he’s pretty sure the only people that actually know are Alva and Klaus. It’s not like he was _that_ obvious, right? He wrings his hands, fingers twisting and locking against one another as he fidgets. Something scrapes the side of one of his fingers, and he pauses to look. He frowns when he notices he’s broken a nail. He misses his manicures. Then tries to sink into the floor when he realizes that oh _god_ there wasn’t any way the locals didn’t know. Back home, He’d had his family name. His money and status to protect him from those who didn’t exactly _agree_ with the preference. But here.. 

And even, _even_ if they did know, even if _Mogens_ knew, that didn’t. Mogens wasn’t _gay._

  
  


..Right? 

He realizes he’s got no real proof one way or another. The only comments he’s heard that would act as any sort of evidence either way were said as jokes. Sarcastic jabs, usually at Jesper. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think he’s heard of any one _ever_ being present in Mogen’s life like that. Maybe that was just because the guy hated him, and you don’t generally open up to people you hate, but still. The locals have never mentioned anyone, and though Mogens wears gloves, there would be a noticeable bump on his ring finger if he did have a ring. Jesper frowns again when he realizes that not having a ring is also not a solid piece of evidence. Mogens probably wasn’t even the kind of guy who’d _wear_ a ring anyways. 

Huffing, he slots the letters he’d gotten on the way back to the post office into their cubbies. He had _told_ the locals that he’d only be collecting mail once a day, and that if they missed their chance, they’d have to wait. But it was getting close to Christmas once more, and as such, he was getting a sudden influx of letters. Letters to a certain woodsman. Children, he found, can generally be clumped together in the category of ‘forgetful’, and as such he found kids rushing to hand him their letters well after the time appointed for collecting said letters. His hands slot together, palms facing one another as he puffs his breath between them. 

Right, well, it didn’t matter either way. If Mogens hated him, well that was fine. He’d been managing just fine. And if Mogens _was_ _,_ by chance, gay _and_ flirting (in a really shitty way) to Jesper, well that didn’t matter either did it? Why did he care? He didn’t, obviously. A few logs are stacked in his hearth and he starts up a fire for the night. He still lived in the loft of the Post Office, but it was much more livable now that it wasn’t a shack about to topple over at the slightest gust of wind. It was actually livable now, and he drops himself by the fire to warm up after a long day.


	2. Sympathetic Ragging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alva has to spell things out to yet another grown man, who should be perfectly capable of seeing it himself.

Wind swept through the streets of the weaving, maze-like streets of Smeerensburg. The island community didn’t really have a main road, as it had been so heavily divided just a short while ago and walking around in the open like that was absolutely a death wish. The wind carried tiny bits of ice that stung exposed skin and dampened your clothes even if you avoided snow. Mogens was more than used to it by now though, and he’s learned over the years that certain clothing was absolutely mandatory. Not only did the clothing have to be warm, and have more than one layer usually, but turtlenecks and popped collars to shield your neck, thick water-resistant boots preferably with some form of more advanced traction were also common. The locals often ignored the fashion advisory though, either too stubborn to change, refusing to appear _weak_ to the neighbors, or just because a naturally high tolerance for the cold. 

What was odd though, was the fact that after being here for a little over two years, Jesper hasn’t caught on. In fact, Mogens doesn’t think he’s ever seen the postman in anything other than the issued uniform he arrived in. Sometimes a layer or two was missing, but it was always the same lightweight, thin fabric that every other uniform was made from. From his understanding though, the big city where Jesper was originally from was much, much warmer. The fact that he was sent here with a less than suitable uniform was almost _cruel_ , really. But Mogens, a battered and tattered ocean-fairing man, wasn’t too worried. He’s seen people survive with less. Still.. Sometimes when he does spot Jesper out and about, especially in the colder months, he can’t help the small, itty bitty tug of empathy that he feels. Jesper was pale already, having some of the most fair skin he’s ever seen, it seemed impossible for it to get worse. Except it did. In the winter, Jesper looked somehow more white than the snow, bordering on blue around the fingers and lips. The only thing that helped define his features was the irritated red blotches that seemed forever stained on his cheeks and nose tip. Somehow, he always managed to look miserable. 

But that might not be the whole truth. After all, Mogens can only see Jesper’s face when he’s physically around him. And Mogens being near by usually meant grief and general annoyance.

Still, It was a thought that crept out of the crevices of Mogens’ mind, taking the forefront without him even realizing it, more often than he’d like to admit. 

He’d first met Jesper over two years ago, at his post on the mainland. He remembers with more vivacity than he remembered a lot of things, the lanky, almost stretched looking prissy blonde who’d waltzed up to his post. He remembers watching slim shoulders shake with a ferocity he’s not seen in a long while, and the harsh clattering of too-straight, too-white teeth that accompanied it. Luckily, it seems that Jesper has become at least _somewhat_ more accustomed to the harsh weather. He also recalls nimble fingers, almost _dainty_ hands, neat nails. 

It was comical, really. Watching someone used to a life of luxury fumble and stumble over trails that most normal people face on the regular. 

But then the damndest thing happened. Jesper, snooty, snobbish, silver-spoon-baby Jesper, changed. It was subtle, the compassion and understanding that crept into his ribs and settled around his heart. But it absolutely made an impact in the end. 

Mogens, literally the only form of contact with the mainland they had, sets foot on the old, creaky dock for what must be the millionth time. It was a little impractical, only having one ferryman going between Smeerensburg and the mainland, but considering how visitors weren’t common, and supplies came at pretty regular (but rare) intervals, it was easy enough to see why the big wigs in the warmer parts of the country only deemed it necessary to have one ferryman. Still, bouncing between the coast and the tiny, dull island was taking. As of late, he’s condensed his trips. Taking less frequent rides across the freezing waters, spending most of his time on the island itself rather than his post at the mainland. He still had a _job_ of course, being, again, the only one to bring anything into or out of the town. But he’s found it more practical to make less trips, and instead wait until he’s got more than one reason to leave and come all the way back. Besides, if he was spending his days making trips back and forth, well imagine the entertainment he’d miss!

Jesper has certainly had an upgrade in the quality of his character, but still he was so, so different than the Krums or the Ellingboes. Flighty, nervous, but determined. He’d give him that, at least. The postman was determined. And lately, he’s been a bit more responsive to the poking and prodding that Mogens provided. Maybe it has something to do with the feeling of settling into a community, but he’s sticking up for himself more. Which, honestly, is even better than before. Not many of the folks here were clever enough to keep up any sort of banter, but Jesper was different. 

He doesn’t particularly care to go picking apart the reasons _why_ he likes talking with the postman though. Mogens has long since given up on trying to understand any of the emotions he deals with, let alone figuring out how to handle them. It didn’t really matter anyways, right? What they had worked well enough, their kind of rivalry, kind of friendship. Why ruin it by trying to stick labels to it? 

That being said, he’s not blind. He _knows_ that his gaze lingers a bit too long. That he’s a bit too excited to see the postman. Jesper, for all his attitude and snootiness, was handsome. Well, _pretty_ might be a better descriptor. Regardless, Mogens saw no need to do anything more than quietly muse these things to himself. Jesper didn’t know, and that was fine. No one seemed to know, after all who really paid attention to who the rude ferryman looks at?

Well apparently, he wasn’t quite as secretive as he’d like to be. The locals themselves didn’t seem to know, but there was someone who wasn’t born here. Someone who’d gotten a proper education and paid attention to details. Someone else that was clever. 

“Mornin’ Miss Alva,” He greets, giving his hat the slightest tip. Sitting around with a pint lead to more encounters than you might suspect. Alva looked like she was on her way to one of the (recently restocked, thank you,) shops down on the east side of town. He had no problem with Alva. She was smart, and she was tough. He respected her enough not to push too many of her buttons. 

“Mogens,” She returns the greeting. She didn’t seem to be in any rush, and she had no classes to teach today. Stopping for a quick talk was more than doable. 

They talk about the same shit that all awkward, kind of acquaintances talk about. The weather. The gossip. But that’s where things verge off of the path of being almost mundane, and shift into something else. “Speakin’ of, when’s the wedding?” 

She blinks, narrowing her eyes. “I’m sorry?” 

He waves his hand vaguely. “You n’ Jesper. You can only be mushy for so long, y’know. Eventually marriage comes up an’ then it’s all bickering and--” She laughs. This catches him off guard for several reasons, and his brows knit just so as he looks up at her again. She’s taken the seat across from him, as their chat had gone on long enough to warrant taking a seat. 

“Me and Jesper? Are you serious?” This also catches him off guard. “Wait, wait, am I missing a joke here?” She shakes her head, looking at the lines in the old, pale wood of the table they’re seated at. “Me and Jesper. That’s the joke.” She says simply, shaking her head again. 

“Wait you’re not dating him?” 

She purses her lip, easily shaking her head again. “No.” 

He takes his boots off of the table, placing his feet on the slush covered ground as he leans forward, planting an elbow on the table as he tries to make sense out of the information given. “No? You’re awful touchy for people who aren’t dating. An you’re usually out n’ about together, what’s that supposed to be? A friendly meet up?” 

“Yeah.” She shrugs. 

He stares at her, recalling every time he’s seen her take Jesper by the arm, by the hand. Every time she’s kissed his nose or cheek. The weekly lunches they meet up for, the coffees in between. “I’m not buying it.” He says simply. 

She scoffs, and with all the seriousness she can muster, she gesticulates with her hand and says, “You do realize Jesper is gay, right?” 

And that, that takes the all of the wind out of his sails. 

“What?” He says after a beat of silence, eyes narrowing again like he perhaps misheard. 

“Oh please. Do you really think a man who cries over not having silk sheets is straight? A man who uses expensive lavender soap and fusses over wrinkles in his uniform?” 

Silence stretches between them, Alva laughs lightly once more. “Honestly, Mogens. I’d think that a captain would be more attentive.” He stares at her. 

“Wait so he’s really gay?” 

Alva shakes her head again, pushing her palms against the old, scratched up tabletop as she stands. Her hands brush off the front of her dress. “I have errands to run. It’s been unusually nice talking with you,” And before he can really do much more, she’s turning and continuing down the street. 

Mogens sits there. Now that it’s been pointed out, it seems clear as day. Stereotypical, maybe, but true nevertheless. “Huh.” Leaning back in his chair once more, he kicks his boots up onto the table. Learn something new everyday, huh? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey i wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for the positive feedback/interest in my story! I've been struggling with writing (tbh anything artistic) lately due to some pretty severe depression. I'm starting to climb out of that ditch though, and it's nice to see i haven't lost ALL my talent. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, next chapter will probably be up in 3-8 days?


	3. Small hiatus

Hey everyone I'm sorry for falling off of the face of the Earth, one of my pets unfortunately passed away and I've really been struggling with her passing. I can assure you that I'm not abandoning this fic, I'm just not able to get the next chapter to read like I want it to, and I've been slowly picking away at it. Thank you all for the encouraging comments, I hope to get you all an update soon!


End file.
